Godspeed
by Blinded Ryter
Summary: A collection of stories from Bright Red Scream, a self mutilator's story, Yuugi's story. But what about everyone else's story? Will you listen to their stories and discover what demons torture them?


**PLEASE READ; VERY IMPORTANT:** _Godspeed_ is a collection of stories that belong to the characters in _Bright Red Scream_, a self-mutilation story. Yuugi and Atem are exceptions though. _Godspeed_ will go into depth about the other characters, show you what goes on in their lives, and explain their actions in _Bright Red Scream_ (e.g. shunning Yuugi). Perhaps this will help _Bright Red Scream_ readers understand not only the nature of self-mutilation, but an OCD, insomnia, and so on. Not every single character has a disorder, but it doesn't mean that their lives are perfect either (honestly, whose is these days?). _Godspeed_ is just another way I want to reach out to people, listen to them, and maybe even help them. Vent, confess, release, explode...if you need someone to listen, talk to me.

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! nor any of its characters. Godspeed is credited to a song by Anberlin._

**Godspeed**  
_By Blinded Ryter_

_Godspeed is dedicated to all of the Bright Red Scream readers.  
Thank-you for your support, reviews, and love.  
I mean all of that with my heart.  
_

01 - Filthy  
_Anzu's Story_

The familiar sounds of running water splashing against the sides of the porcelain bowl and running down the drain was beginning to soothe my nerves and help my troubled thoughts to fade. Glisbtening with water, my hands lathered the soap between my fingers, palms, and across the back of my hands before I washed the soap suds off my skin by holding my hands under the faucet. The translucent bubbles that reflected iridescent colors gathered at the bottom to add onto the abundant mass that continued to grow. Unable to recall how many times I had washed my hands, I reached over to the soap dispenser, and got another good amount of the pale seafoam-coloured liquid onto my opened palm. The scent of fresh juniper hit my nose again as I frantically rubbed the soap over ever inch of my dirty, filthy flesh where thousands, no, _millions_ of microscopic germs crept across like a swarm of hairy and atrocious spiders. I did not wince when I felt more skin cells be taken off, and leave my hands and forearms raw and a bright shade of scarlet. The scalding hot water only exacerbated the pain. The stinging pain was familiar, just like the running water, the lathering of soap, the ridding of the filth.

After rinsing my hands, I splashed some water over the knob that was turned inward to let the water run. The water trickled down the metal knob and though I had a strong belief that germs were still crawling over the silver surface, I quickly grasped it, and turned the water off. The sound of running water was silenced and the only thing I could hear now was the bubbles popping and bursting softly. I stared down at the basin where a large mass of white and translucent soap suds were gathered. The brilliant bathroom lights casted its rays upon the bubbles, and small rainbows of vivid twilight colors could be seen on the surface. How many times had I washed my hands this time? At least fifteen times, yes? Or was it twenty? Thirty? Fifty? I reached over for the hand towel and as I ran the dry cloth across my raw skin, I raised my eyes to the mirror, and gazed at the glass that portrayed my reflection.

Strands of my brown hair fell into my sapphire eyes that held an accusing light in them. A flush the shade of faint scarlet was brushed across my cheeks and my lips were pressed into a thin and firm line. This Anzu seemed to be glaring at me in accusation and had a dirty expression stricken across her face. The Anzu everyone knew, my family, my friends, peers, and teachers was the one who loved to smile, berate Jou and Honda for their stupidity, and find happiness in the smallest things. But this Anzu…this Anzu was dirty and covered in filth.

After I hung the damp towel on the rack, I lowered my gaze to my hands. The skin was raw, tender, and had taken on an ugly hue of muddy rose maroon. The cold air of the bathroom licked my hands and arms savagely like the flames of a fierce fire, but as long as the grime was rid of, I didn't care how much it hurt. With my palms opened before me, I raised my eyes back to the mirror, and glared at the reflection, the only witness to this desperate act I did more than ten times a day. The reflection glared right back at me, as if telling me that I would never get all the filth off of my body. Deep down, I knew that the filth was not crawling across my flesh, but had tainted my mind, and poisoned my heart.

This obsession with washing my hands compulsively started since the end of last year. It had been towards the end of the first semester, and taken place in the school hall. I was walking down the hall and towards the classroom when I heard someone call my name. I flinched when there was a prick of some wet sensation in the back of my head. Confused, I turned around to see that it was one of my peers. I smiled at the recognition, but the smile faltered when I saw that the boy was wiping his chin with the back of his hand. The sunlight that poured through the windows illuminated the translucent, glossy, and wet saliva that glistened on his hand. The breath caught in my throat and the color drained from my face when I put two and two together. The boy had spit as he called out my name. The boy…spit on my hair. Something in that grotesque epiphany made my mind snap. In the middle of the hall, I suddenly felt tainted, vile, dirty, and filthy. I went home that day and washed my hair frantically until I ran out of shampoo and conditioner, but when I went to sleep that night, I still felt like I was covered in grime. I believed that the germs were moving down from my scalp and spreading across my body rapidly.

I began to grow more aware of my surroundings since that day. Was it not utterly disgusting and repulsive knowing that you were covered in filth? If the slightest speck of dirt got onto my arm, hand, or any part of my body, breathing became difficult and the panic and alarm that rose inside of me became suffocating. My stomach would begin to churn and my head would become light-headed. Waves of nausea and panic would repeatedly crash over me. I as if my body was contaminated. These grimy, sickly, gross things called germs had become something more than just a quirk, a fear, a phobia. They had grown into a monster, a demon that loved to torture my mind by reminding just how dirty I was. I knew that it was impossible to rid of germs completely, because those hand sanitizers read that their product killed 99.9 percent of the germs and bacteria. What about the other 0.1 percent? It may not be a lot, but it was still there on your body. This belief only caused more alarm and panic inside of me. The knowledge fed the demon and told me I had to wash myself more often, and with more force until my skin was painfully raw and tender.

At first, I started with just thoroughly cleaning my hands twice every time I went to the bathroom. But then, it began to rapidly increased, until the mass of bubbles at the basin was about three or four inches high, and more than half of the soap in the dispenser was gone. Sometimes, when I went to a public restroom, I wouldn't stop washing my hands until every drop of soap in the dispenser was gone.

It wasn't difficult to hide from everyone what I was doing. My skin got terribly dry and rough from washing them so many times, but I spent more money on bottles of lotion than make-up and clothes. The lotion gave my skin some moisture and concealed what was really lying underneath. It was like a mask, in some sense. I also wore long-sleeves as often as possible, but I tried to wear short sleeves or sleeveless shirts occasionally as to not arouse suspicion. No one noticed what I did in the bathroom either. My friends were all guys, so they never followed me into the female restroom. I would also let the water run for a moment or two so that the mass of bubbles would quickly wash down the drain, and get rid of evidence.

But emotionally? Mentally? No one would have guessed that something was wrong with Anzu. I wore a mask. I was a liar. And I didn't care one bit that I was a fake and hiding the truth from those that loved and cared for me. I didn't want them to know, I didn't want help, I didn't want to be reached out to. All I wanted was to get rid of the germs and bacteria, the grime and filth, so I could be clean.

I shot my reflection one last glance before walking over to the wall, and sliding down onto the cold tiled floor. I sat back against the wall and stared dimly across as thoughts about Yuugi filled my mind to serve as a distraction to the troubled emotions swirling inside of my chest. But I also mused about Yuugi because I was concerned for him. That sounded unbelievably hypocritical, considering how I stayed away from him instead of being a good friend and standing by his side. A little more hypocrisy was thrown at me when I realized what a terrible friend I was, in spite of the numerous friendship speeches I always preached to others, including Yuugi.

It was only a week ago that Shou and Yuugi had some sort of argument. Shou had gotten a rise out of Yuugi, causing my friend to express such intensity and rage I had never seen in my life. But then, when Yuugi began to speak about self-mutilation and said the word "we" several times, I understood. Shou had pushed a wrong button inside of Yuugi. Self-mutilation, bulimia, anorexia, OCDs, my issue…those were our weakness and most sensitive areas. It was also the last button you would want to push, because a fuse would be set off inside of us, depending on the situation. Once the fuse was set, we would either explode like a nuclear bomb, or break down like glass that could not be put back together. Apparently, Shou had pushed that very button, and Yuugi responded by exploding and letting fury be the suffocating smoke, and rage be the burning fire.

I had done nothing that day except watch Yuugi in silence with my lips pressed into a thin and firm line, and my brows knitted together into a frustrated scowl. What could I have possibly said after I saw Yuugi push Atem, his Yami, his other half, the one who called him "Aibou", away? I wanted to do something, anything…but what? Was it to help Yuugi? How could I help Yuugi if I couldn't even help myself? And what if Yuugi didn't want help, just like me? If people saw what I did, they would say that something was terribly wrong with me, and that "Anzu needs help." But all I wanted was to be clean. What was so bad about that?

Pain flitted across my face as heat began to prick the flesh around my eyes, and tears began to blur my vision. Yuugi was my friend and I was letting him suffer alone. Everyone else, Jou, Honda, Ryou, and Atem, were staying away from Yuugi as well. It was obvious that Yuugi was in so much pain, but giving up on us, himself, and life as well. The violet eyes that once had a light of life and joy dancing in them had died away. His eyes were vacant, distant, and hollow now. They looked utterly lifeless and dead. Why? Why couldn't we find the courage and guts to confront? Talk to him? Stand by his side? Was it not that simple? If so, why couldn't weren't we doing it? Wasn't that what good friends were supposed to do? What was holding us, me, back?

It was guilt.  
Despair.  
A feeling of helplessness.

And fear.

What if Yuugi pushed us away and lashed out at us? What if he simply strained a smile and said nothing was wrong? What if he pointed out all the wrongs we committed, and become blind by rage and not want to see our faces again?

But…what if he didn't?

What if he would listen to us and hear us out? Maybe he would even forgive us. Maybe he _did_ want to be helped.

But most of all, I strongly believed that all Yuugi wanted was to have his friends to lean on again.

"Oh, Yuugi…" I cried out in a cracking voice as I closed my eyes tightly.

I brought my shaking hands to my face and covered it as I caved in. I felt the damp, lukewarm sensation of frustrated and anguished tears on my palms. I covered my face and held my head in my hands. Locks of my hair flowed between my clutching fingers. Gritting my teeth, my body began to shake uncontrollably as I attempted to stifle the sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Yuugi…" I sobbed between staggering gasps. The excruciating pangs that resonated inside of my chest were nearly intolerable.

Seconds, minutes, moments…a good amount of time past until I heard knocking on the door. Inhaling sharply, my head snapped up, and I turned my wavering eyes to the door.

"Anzu?" I heard my mother call out. "Are you still in there, honey? You've been in there for a long time. Is anything wrong, dear?"

_'Yes, everything. Everything is terribly wrong,'_ I thought bitterly to myself as I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand.

I swallowed hard before speaking in a steady voice. "I'm fine, Mother," I answered in my usual cheery tone. "I was just fixing my hair," I lied with ease.

A soft sigh could be heard from the other sigh. "Anzu, your hair is fine," the woman said in a faux exasperated tone, then chuckled quietly. "Come on out and help me in the kitchen. Dad will be home in half an hour."

"Mmkay, give me a minute," I chimed and let a fake smile touch my lips.

I strained my ears to listen to the shuffling of feet and fading footsteps. Once I was sure that my mother had walked down the hall and made her way into the kitchen, I pushed onto my feet, and was met by my reflection staring at me in silence. The disheveled girl with the tear stained face stared back at me was an emotional wreck, a hopeless loss, a traitor to a friend, but most of all, she was filthy.

I turned the faucet back on to wash my hands once more.

-----

**Blinded Ryter -** Filthy is also dedicated to my cousin, who inspired me and gave me permission to write Anzu with this OCD. The incident about Anzu and her hair getting spat on occured with my cousin, and that was what developed into my cousin's OCD. Thank-you, Cousin, for letting me write this. I love you mucho (:

**Next story:** Silence - Ryou's Story


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